


Jingle Balls

by BansheeLydia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Bookstore Owner Derek Hale, Bookstore Owner Stiles Stilinski, Christmas, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eternal Sterek, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 07:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12954522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BansheeLydia/pseuds/BansheeLydia
Summary: They were the exact opposite of each other.  Derek hated Stiles’ loudness, his confidence, his vocabulary, the way he moved his hands when he talked, his stupid jokes and his smirk and his insistence that modern was the way forward, trampling over anything traditional about bookstores.  Stiles hated Derek’s arrogance, his quiet disdain, his snobbish, stubborn, stick-in-the-mud attitude that he was right and his way was better, he hated his refusal to even acknowledge that Stiles’ bookstore worked for a lot of people, and he hated how attractive Derek was because sometimes it made him hard to focus on how much he loathed Derek’s scowl.Stiles and Derek are rival bookstore owners, but that might change when Stiles finds Derek alone on Christmas Eve.





	Jingle Balls

“Why is Derek Hale outside?” 

Stiles’ head snapped up, bashing against the shelf above him. He swore, loudly, and dropped the stack of books he was holding so he could cradle his skull, wincing as he straightened from his crouch. 

From her perch on a chair a few feet away, balancing precariously with one foot on the back of it so she could reach the ceiling, Allison raised a slightly judgemental eyebrow at him. 

“Don’t rush,” she teased, tone mild. 

Stiles grumbled, rubbing the knot of pain on the top of his head as he approached the front of the store. Derek Hale was outside, hands shoved in his coat pockets as he glared at the front of Stiles’ bookstore. For a second, it looked like Derek was scowling through the glass windows at Stiles, which wasn’t actually that unusual, but then he realized Derek was looking at the huge Christmas tree Stiles and his staff had spent all morning setting up in front of the windows. Sure, it wasn’t the classiest of Christmas trees; it was kind of gaudy looking, with bright, twinkling lights casting multicolored hues onto the glass, and way too much tinsel. But Stiles thought it looked great.

Stiles folded his arms, frowning. Derek rarely ventured this far down the street. He seemed to get hives just being in the general _vicinity_ of Stiles’ store, which was fine, because Stiles always took the long route home so he didn’t have to walk past Derek’s sorry excuse for a bookstore. 

He glanced over at Scott. He was pouring a drink for a customer in the Coffee Corner, but he was watching Stiles, waiting to see how this played out.

Finally, Derek snapped his gaze away from the tree and marched towards the door, pushing it open; the bell that Stiles had installed above it chimed a tinny version of _Jingle Bells_ and Derek’s head shot up to glare at it, appalled. 

“You’re letting the cold in,” Stiles snapped.

Derek let go of the door, letting it shut with a clatter loud enough to echo through the store. Several customers looked up, startled, and Stiles narrowed his eyes as Derek approached him. He stopped right in front of Stiles, but his gaze was elsewhere, taking in the whole bookstore. Specifically, the Christmas decorations that Allison, Kira and Danny were still hanging up. 

It had been expensive, but it was Stiles’ first Christmas since he opened _Hobbit Hole_ in January and he was overwhelmingly happy of its success, so he’d gone all out on decorations. Mistletoe, stars dangling from the ceiling, tinsel, strings of Christmas lights, a mini Christmas tree in the Coffee Corner, stockings and wreaths, little gingerbread men and elves and Santa and reindeer statues. There was a book igloo and Santa’s Grotto in the children’s section and Scott had come up with some amazing festive drinks and baked goods. It was a little much, maybe, but Stiles thought it looked nice; bright and twinkly and festive. He could just imagine how warm and inviting it would look from the street now the nights were drawing in so early and the weather was cold and due to snow. Plus, the Christmas period would mean lots more customers wanting to buy books, especially for children, so jazzing it up to make it look festive and fun would make people want to buy them from his store.

And it was _Christmas_. He loved Christmas and he loved the decorations, so Derek and his disgruntled expression could suck his jingle balls.

Derek’s gaze landed on Stiles’ sweater. Stiles crossed his arms over it protectively, then dropped them again, because he was proud of this year’s Christmas sweater. It had Chewbacca wearing a Santa hat with Christmas lights wrapped in his face fur. It was _cool_. All of his staff were wearing Christmas sweaters too; he didn’t have a uniform. He didn’t like them. Scott, Allison, Kira and Danny were his friends, so they could wear what they wanted, and the vibe worked with the sort of store Stiles owned, so customers didn’t really care. But they’d all agreed to wear Christmas sweaters. 

“What,” Derek demanded, “Are you doing?”

“Christmas decorations, Derek,” Stiles replied slowly. “I don’t know if they celebrated Christmas in whichever lab you were grown in, but most people like to put up festive decorations in December.”

“It’s the _first_.”

“Right, of _December_ ,” Stiles said. “Ergo, decorations. What do you want, dude?”

He watched Derek grind his teeth, barely biting a smirk. It usually took a little more needling to get Derek this irritated, but he knew Derek hated the word ‘dude’. 

_Gotcha_ , he thought smugly. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Scott shake his head slightly, but he kept his gaze on Derek, staring him down. Patience wasn’t really his thing, and keeping quiet and still definitely weren’t either, but he waited Derek out, knowing it would annoy him even more.

So he was petty. Sue him.

Finally, Derek grit out, “The power will be out on Thursday. They’re doing works.”

Stiles frowned slightly. “I know?” he said, confused. “They sent me the exact same letter, Derek. Every business on the block got it. I’m gonna close the store for the day.” He paused. “Wait, what, are you visiting every business on this street to tell them? That’s…surprisingly social of you, are you feeling okay?”

Derek’s expression turned to thunder. “I just wasn’t sure if you could read,” he said, tone dripping with sarcasm, and he turned, marching towards the door.

“That’s not even a decent insult, Derek!” Stiles called after him. “I own a _bookstore_.”

The only answer he got was the door slamming shut, rattling in the frame from the force of it. Stiles craned his head to watch Derek storm off down the street, then threw his hands up, walking over to the Coffee Corner. 

“That was weird,” he said, leaning on the counter to watch Scott carefully stack some cups. “That was weird, right?”

“Maybe he just wanted to see you,” Kira said with a smile as she walked past, a long bit of tinsel dangling after her. The bells on her reindeer antlers jingled with each step.

“Right,” Stiles said, scoffing slightly. “Yeah, actually, I wouldn’t put it past him to come in just to annoy me. He acts like he owns the world’s highest horse, but he’s just as petty as me, I _know_ it.”

Scott shook his head slightly, a smile tugging at his mouth.

***

It wasn’t like Stiles had _intentionally_ opened _Hobbit Hole_ on the same street as another bookstore. It just kinda…happened. It was just the logical choice, economically and geographically; it was the best sized building for his store without being charged an indecent amount of rent for the space, and it was only a fifteen minute walk from his apartment, so he didn’t have to rely on his not-so-trusty-these-days jeep to get him there every day. 

Plus, it was on one of the main streets in town, so it was where the most foot traffic was. More people would see his store. And it was a _pretty_ street. Everything just kinda came together and if there happened to be competition on the same street, well…that wasn’t really his fault. Besides, he’d seen loads of independent stores selling the same things on the same street, some even right next to each other. At least there were six other stores between him and Derek.

So he’d figured it wouldn’t a big deal.

Except Derek Hale, the owner of _Hale Books_ – and what kind of boring, lame-ass store name was _that_? – was kind of a dick. An antisocial, stuck-in-his-ways dick. He hadn’t even bothered to hide his disdain when he saw Stiles’ store, with its vibrant front and awesome hobbit hole themed sign – which Danny had spent _ages_ designing for him, so Derek could shove it – and bright, modern interior. He’d looked appalled at the children’s section with its chaos of tiny plastic chairs and crayons and puzzle books, rolled his eyes at the comic books section, looked irritated at the section full of gifts, board games and stationary, and downright _disgusted_ at the tiny coffee shop. 

It was everything Derek hated in a bookstore. It was sacrilege against the sanctity of books and traditional bookshops. It was the exact opposite of Derek’s own store and he hadn’t even bothered to bite back his snarky remarks about it when they’d first met.

Derek Hale was handsome. Frustratingly so. Everything he did was attractive, or, worse, _adorable_. Even when he was glaring at him, Stiles had to admit, it was a _gorgeous_ glare. But his appreciation for Derek’s…everything had pretty much gone out of the window when they first met and he realized how much of a jerk Derek was.

And, hey, he wasn’t exactly a fan of Derek’s store either, with its bland name and bland store front, its cramped shelves filled with old, dusty books, and the complete lack of anything modern or comforting, like wifi, or coffee, or, you know, _staff_. Derek ran it by himself and how it kept going, Stiles had no idea, because he was pretty sure there wasn’t a single book in there that had been published in the last decade and Derek himself wasn’t exactly warm or inviting. 

They were the exact opposite of each other. Derek hated Stiles’ loudness, his confidence, his vocabulary, the way he moved his hands when he talked, his stupid jokes and his smirk and his insistence that modern was the way forward, trampling over anything traditional about bookstores. Stiles hated Derek’s arrogance, his quiet disdain, his snobbish, stubborn, stick-in-the-mud attitude that he was right and his way was better, he hated his refusal to even _acknowledge_ that Stiles’ bookstore worked for a lot of people, and he hated how attractive Derek was because sometimes it made him hard to focus on how much he loathed Derek’s scowl.

So they resolved to ignore each other, pouring that rivalry into trying to better each other’s sales. Stiles was pretty sure he was winning on that front, but Derek definitely had his loyal customers, and there usually was a decent, steady flow of people going in and out. 

Not that he was watching Derek’s store.

Obviously.

The few times they did interact were to bug one another, winding each other up until they snapped and argued, and, inevitably, a door was slammed. 

Stiles didn’t really get why he let it go on. Pettiness, definitely, and his own stubborn streak that made him determined to win this ridiculous rivalry. 

And maybe, if Stiles was being honest, there was a small part of him that liked having Derek’s focus completely on him, if only for a few, heated minutes.

***

Stiles didn’t see Derek for the rest of the run up to Christmas, though that small, petty part of him did hope that Derek could hear the Christmas songs Stiles played all day every time the door opened.

He didn’t get much time to think about Derek, though. He was rushed off his feet every day, either running around helping Christmas shoppers find what they needed, or on his feet behind the counter for hours serving customer after customer, or helping Scott out in the café. 

It was good, their sales were through the roof, and Stiles couldn’t be happier. He loved Christmas and he loved sharing his love for books and the festive period with both his friends and with the people who came into the store.

But he was also incredibly _tired_.

By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, he was ready to sleep for a month. His feet ached, his eyes felt hot and heavy, and he just wanted his bed. He’d sent the others home early; he was closing the store at four instead of eight, but since no one was really coming in anyway, he’d let them go to enjoy Christmas Eve. 

Stiles didn’t mind being on his own for a couple of hours. He was spending Christmas Eve alone in his apartment, since he wasn’t driving to his dad’s until tomorrow morning. He read, mostly, keeping himself awake, and served the occasional customer who rushed in looking for a last minute gift. At four, he flipped the sign on the door to _closed_ and locked up. 

He cleaned and tidied, switched off the lights, and went into the small staff room to grab his stuff. It had been snowing heavily over the last few days, so Stiles had started wearing his boots to work and switching to his more comfortable sneakers once he was inside. He dropped down onto the couch to swap shoes, but the second his body hit the comfy, slightly overstuffed sofa, exhaustion seemed to crush him to the spot.

He let his body tilt sideways, curling up on the couch, and closed his eyes. Just for a moment. 

He woke with drool crusted on his face and eyelids that felt glued shut from sleep. He grimaced, rubbing at his face until he felt a little more human, and pulled his reluctant body up until he was sitting. The lights in the staff room had shut off automatically, the only light coming from the street, casting a hazy yellow glow into the room. Snow was dancing down outside and Stiles yawned, fumbling until he found his phone to check the time.

10pm. He groaned. The walk home would be cold and wet and he’d just about have time to grab some food before catching some more sleep. 

He stood, switching his shoes for his boots, and bundled up in his winter gear, grabbing his bag. He left, locking the door behind him, and stepped onto the sidewalk, immediately sinking ankle deep into the snow.

It was dark and silent. Everyone was at home, in the warmth, enjoying their Christmas Eve. Not even a single car trundled past. It was peaceful and almost comforting, actually. It kind of felt like magic in the air.

He started to turn to the right to start his walk home, but something caught his eye. All of the stores were dark, the owners having closed up and gone home, except for one. A dim light inside spilled out onto the sidewalk, making the snow almost glitter. Stiles knew, of course, exactly which store it was, and he urged his feet to keep going right, to just walk home.

Instead, he found himself pulled towards _Hale Books_. He told himself that he was just going to check Derek hadn’t left the lights on or, like, fallen and brained himself or something and lifted his chin slightly, doing his best to believe it as he stopped outside of the store.

He immediately saw Derek.

He was sat on a stool by the counter, completely enraptured in the book in his hands. The lights had been dimmed to be less intrusive, casting the store in a soft, hazy glow. It looked warm and inviting, Stiles had to admit. _Derek_ looked warm and inviting, wearing a burgundy sweater with freaking thumb holes, his face soft and relaxed as he read. 

Stiles yanked his gaze away. 

The sign on the door still said _Open_. Stiles stared at it for a moment, then glanced back at Derek. A tiny little smile pulled at his lips as he read. Stiles had never seen Derek smile before – not a real one, anyway; the smiles he saw ranged from sarcastic and disdainful to simply faking it to be polite to customers, and while incredibly handsome, it was just a little too sharp, too painful, almost, to be believed – and for some inexplicable reason, it was the sight of it that made Stiles finally step forward, pushing open the door. 

A bell – a normal one, unlike Stiles’ festive monstrosity – chimed softly as he stepped inside. Derek quickly shut the book and looked up, his polite how-can-I-help smile ( _like broken glass_ , Stiles thought, exhaustion fogging his brain, _broken edged, damaged_ ) morphing to a look of irritation when he realized who it was.

“What do you want?” he asked. His tone lacked its usual snap, though. Instead, he just sounded tired.

“What are you even doing open?” Stiles asked, bewildered. “Dude, its ten o’clock on Christmas Eve.”

Derek looked away, placing the book he’d been reading onto the small counter. He shrugged. “Figured I’d stay open. There’s always some idiot running around looking for last minute gifts.”

“Yeah, not at this hour, buddy,” Stiles said, shaking his head.

Derek kept his gaze fixed somewhere over Stiles’ shoulder. “Yeah, well, I don’t mind. I don’t have anyone to spend Christmas Eve with, so.”

Rivals or not, Stiles’ heart ached. He gazed at Derek for a few minutes, unsure of what to say, but when he did finally open his mouth, he realized he’d made his decision the second Derek had spoken.

“Cool, well, I’m not spending Christmas Eve with anyone either, so…” He worded it carefully, _not spending it with anyone_ as opposed to _no one to spend it with_ , not wanting to make Derek feel like a pity party, or like he was being pandered to. 

He took off his hat, shoving it into his bag with one hand and running the fingers of the other through his hair as he sat down on the stool. 

Derek stared at him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“C’mon, man, you can’t kick me out on Christmas Eve. Where’s your Christmas spirit?” Stiles replied, offering his best wide eyed look. When Derek just frowned at him, he added, “Don’t be a Scrooge, dude.”

“Don’t call me ‘dude’,” Derek said. He was obviously aiming for exasperation, but his tone ended up sounding more resigned, and Stiles grinned in victory as Derek sat down on the other stool.

He watched Derek pick up his book again and resolved to be quiet. After just a couple of minutes of silence broken only by the occasional turn of a page, Stiles started to fidget, foot tapping on the bar of the stool, fingers twitching on the counter. Derek lifted his head slightly, shooting him a glare, and Stiles held up his hands, getting back to his feet.  
He walked around the store, peering at the shelves. Derek’s store was a lot smaller, but the shelves were more cramped with books, so it took a while. It was a lot more neatly organized than _Hobbit Hole_ , though. He pulled the occasional book out, flicking through it curiously, before returning it carefully to its place. He caught Derek watching him a couple of times and figured Derek was worried about him creating a mess, so he was incredibly careful not to.

Eventually, he made his way back to the counter. “It’s so cold in here,” he said. “Don’t you have heating?”

Derek wordlessly pointed to a cast iron _dinosaur_ of a radiator. The heat it emitted barely touched the cold air a few feet away from it and it looked about two seconds away from dying completely. 

“What the hell is that?”

“A radiator, Stiles,” Derek replied impatiently.

“Yeah, but…outdated, much? Wait, what am I talking about, outdated is practically your middle name.” Stiles said, then widened his eyes and held up his hands when Derek’s gaze snapped up to him. “No, sorry, that was offensive, I know. I just…jeez, aren’t you _cold_?”

Derek paused, fingertips idly stroking the spine of his book, and Stiles had stop watching because the sight made his traitor of a body tingle.

“A little,” Derek admitted. “It’s usually warmer than this, but the heating keeps going off today.”

Stiles frowned. “Right, we’re going to my place.” Derek raised an eyebrow and Stiles absolutely did not go red, not even a little bit. “My _store_ , Derek.”

Derek looked like he’d swallowed something sour. “Why?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Stiles griped, grabbing his bag and hat again. “My store gives you hives, it’s a disgrace to the sanctity of bookstores, etcetera, etcetera, but I’m cold, _you’re_ cold, and my store has a heating system that didn’t become obsolete in the sixties and hot drinks. So whaddaya say?”

He expected Derek to put up more of an argument, or even just outright refuse and kick him out, but to his surprise, Derek just nodded, getting to his feet.

“Wait here.” He disappeared through a door behind the counter. When he returned, he was bundled up in a coat, hat and scarf, even gloves, soft looking knitted grey ones.

_Adorable_ , Stiles thought, _the jerk_  
.  
He hovered as Derek switched everything off and locked up, then lead him down the street, back to his own store. He opened the door and quickly switched off the alarm as he ushered Derek inside, locking the door again.

Derek found a seat in the Coffee Corner as Stiles flicked on all of the lights and turned on the heating. By the time he’d made two hot chocolates – extra marshmallows for Derek, he looked like he needed it – and carried them to the table, the store was warm enough for them both to shed their outdoor layers.

Derek looked at his mug for a moment, then wordlessly popped a marshmallow into his mouth.

“So,” Stiles said, after a minute of silence ticked by. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Derek said nothing. He glared at the mistletoe hanging above the coffee counter like it had personally offended him. 

“It looks like one of Santa’s elves threw up in here.”

Stiles barked a surprised, pleased laugh. “Well, merry fuck you to you too, Derek.”

Derek’s mouth twitched slightly and he folded his arms, leaning back. Stiles filled the silence by slurping his hot chocolate. Derek just watching him, 100% judging him, but he didn’t say a word. 

“You really don’t like Christmas, do you?” Stiles said, voice soft. 

Derek glanced at the tree, watching the lights twinkle for a moment. “I used to.”

There was so much grief and longing in those three words that Stiles knew, instantly, that he needed to drop that line of conversation. He searched around desperately for something to say that would ease the horrible, heartbroken look on Derek’s face, but before he could blurt anything out, Derek spoke again.

“My family,” he said, pausing for a second to gather himself before continuing, “The store was my mom and dad’s. They opened it shortly after they got married. Me and my siblings, we grew up running around the bookshelves and reading the books in the corner when mom or dad were busy with customers.”

Stiles could imagine it, a tiny Derek with skinned knees and gapped teeth and a mop of dark hair, tucked under a table reading, lost in his own little world. He smiled. “That’s nice.”

“They died.”

Stiles’ ribs constricted. “Derek…”

“All of them, they died. There was a fire. I came home and they were gone. All of them.” Derek bit out the words, the pain it took to say each one of them clear on his face. “I was the only one left. Just me. That’s why I’m spending Christmas alone. There’s no one else, not anymore.”

Stiles’ heart hurt. He reached out, resting his hand on Derek’s forearm, just wanting to take that pain and grief and longing that was on Derek’s face, to feel it so Derek wouldn’t have to.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Derek’s mouth turned up slightly into that jagged, bitter smile. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

“No,” Stiles said, almost urgently. “I know everyone says that. I know how much it makes you sick to hear it after the hundredth time. I know. But…I _am_. My mom…she died when I was a kid. Cancer. I know it’s not…I know what you went through…it’s different, I know that, but I get it, and no one deserves to go through that. I’m sorry.”

Derek stared at him for a long second. Just _stared_. His eyes glittered with unshed tears and his lips parted slightly, and he just looked, straight into Stiles’ eyes, stealing Stiles’ breath. 

“Thank you,” he said, finally, voice quiet and rough.

Stiles realized he still had his fingers curled around Derek’s arm, that he’d leant in and was gazing into Derek’s eyes, and he cleared his throat, pulling back with a soft smile. He looked down at his hot chocolate, swirling it so the marshmallow shifted around on the surface. It didn’t hit him until a few minutes later.

Because of _course_. He was such an idiot. An insensitive _dick_ of an idiot.

No wonder Derek didn’t want to update the book store. If everything had burned…god, it was probably the only thing of his family he had left. Of course he kept it just the same, of course he was so determined to run it the way he did, to keep it open and successful. He’d want to do it for his family, to make them proud, to keep them alive, in some way. That store and the memories it held was his last link of his family. Why would he ever want to cover that up with new paint and new books and new… _everything_?

“Shit,” Stiles said. “Shit, Derek, I’m sorry.”

Derek looked at him, questioning, brow furrowed slightly.

“The store,” Stiles clarified. “Your store. I get it now. I was such a dick. I’m sorry.”

Derek’s mouth twitched up slightly. It wasn’t exactly the real smile that Stiles had only glimpsed before, but it was close. 

“I don’t think your store is that bad,” he admitted, and Stiles’ eyebrows shot up. “It’s…not my kind of thing, but I can appreciate it. It works. And,” he added, his expression turning wry, “I have to admit, the heating and hot drinks is a perk.”

Stiles laughed, cradling his mug in his hands, feeling inexplicably happy. “Can I get that in writing?”

Derek rolled his eyes, but it was amused rather than irritated, and Stiles practically beamed at him. They finished their drinks quietly and Stiles stood, gathering the cups to take them to the counter. Derek followed, offering to help clean up, but Stiles waved a hand.

“I’ve got it,” he said, glancing over, then paused.

Derek tilted his head slightly. “What?”

Stiles’ gaze flicked upwards before he could help it and Derek followed it, looking at the mistletoe that hung above their heads. He felt his cheeks heat up and his belly fluttered and he cleared his throat, looking back at Derek.

Who was watching him, a soft expression on his face. He smiled and there it was, that _realness_ , and it took Stiles’ breath away. 

“I…” he started, then stopped, swallowed, continued, “I should wash these up.”

Derek nodded, stepping back slightly. Stiles moved behind the counter and focused on washing up and cleaning the hot chocolate machine. He took his time, making sure everything was clean and tidy – exactly as Scott had left it – before joining Derek back at the table.

They talked for a while, about books and Christmas sales and how much it had snowed this year, and eventually Stiles lost track of what they were even saying, he was so tired. His head drooped onto his arms on the table and, between one breath and the next, he was fast asleep.

When he woke, he was alone. The lights had been switched off, but the heating was still on. Derek had found the blanket from the staff room and draped it over Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles’ heart felt huge and warm. 

He stretched, spine popping after sleeping in such a cramped position, and checked the time. It was gone midnight. Officially Christmas. Instead of being tucked up in bed, belly full, ready for Christmas with his family, here he was, but he didn’t regret anything, not even slightly.

He put the blanket away and bundled up. Derek had locked up behind him and posted the keys back through the letterbox with a little note. Stiles picked it up, reading the smooth handwriting with a smile.

_Merry Christmas, Stiles_.

***

Stiles found himself thinking about Derek a lot over the next few days.

He wondered if Derek was spending Christmas day alone too and the thought made his heart ache. He wondered if Derek was eating good food, or opening thoughtful gifts, or spending time with people who cared about him, and he wished he’d thought to ask him about his plans. The idea of Derek spending the day alone was horrible.

He went back to work after Boxing Day, but he was too busy with the flood of customers redeeming their gift cards or exchanging gift to visit Derek’s. He had to wait until the day after and he left home earlier than usual. He knew Derek usually opened his store an hour earlier than _Hobbit Hole_.

At this hour, it was pretty quiet. Stiles only encountered people rushing to grab coffee or breakfast before work. It was snowing, not as heavily as the last few days, just little cold flakes fluttering around Stiles and spreading a thin blanket on the ground. _Hale Books_ was lit up, casting a warm, inviting glow into the dark winter gloom, and Stiles stepped inside into the welcoming warmth. The heating was finally fixed, then. 

The first thing Stiles noticed was that there was something different, but it took him a second to plate it. _There_. There was a little table by the counter with a coffee machine on it. Stiles laughed, stepping closer, and saw there was a sign written in big capital letters stuck to the machine.

_FOR STILES’ USE ONLY_.

Something warm and happy expanded in Stiles’ chest. He reached out, touching the coffee machine with a smile. After a moment, Derek cleared his throat, drawing Stiles’ attention to where he stood behind the counter. He wordlessly pointed to the ceiling and Stiles looked up. 

There was a single sprig of mistletoe hanging above the counter.

When Stiles looked at Derek, he was smiling at him, that soft, beautiful smile, and Stiles grinned back.

He had a feeling his New Year was going to be wonderful.

**Author's Note:**

> secret santa gift for captainpettie - Merry Christmas!


End file.
